


Something About You

by the_technicolor_whiscash



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol, Confessions of love, M/M, bit of a buildup, some polite touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 12:09:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18073154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_technicolor_whiscash/pseuds/the_technicolor_whiscash
Summary: After the almost-apocalypse, Aziraphale and Crowley spend almost every night drinking wine and discussing the day’s events. Thirty years after that fateful day, Aziraphale realizes he’s tired of waiting.





	Something About You

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y’all I’m writing good omens fics now yeehaw   
> This is just a quicky to try my hand at writing these two, it’s not the best but as with anything I’ll get better with practice   
> Also technically this takes place one year in the future from now assuming the book takes place in 1990 but I doubt that one year in the future life is going to be much different than it is right now

Thirty years. 

It had been thirty years since the almost-apocalypse. Thirty years since the end of time was thwarted by the eleven year old antichrist. Thirty years since Aziraphale’s superiors had last contacted him. 

It was odd, not having that chain. Naturally, he had more freedom to do whatever he wanted. Hell, he could do whatever sins he pleased. Even though most of the time he still couldn’t bring himself to do anything truly wrong, not even stealing a tea bag from the local coffee shop. 

But without that sort of a chain, he was free to spend more time with Crowley. When his bosses up above were watching, Aziraphale had always been a little afraid to be around the demon for too long, for fear of being called out on it. When asked, he always told his bosses that he was busy thwarting Crowley’s plans. Now, Crowley practically lived at the bookshop. He came by almost every night, wine bottle in hand, talking about some demonic nonsense he pulled while Aziraphale shook his head. 

It was nice. This little balance they had. Like an extension of the Agreement, only with more wine involved. It started a half a year after the almost-apocalypse. Aziraphale remembered it vividly. 

Twenty-nine and a half years ago, Crowley stumbled into Aziraphale’s bookshop, already half drunk. But he wasn’t happy-drinking like normal. His voice carried a certain sadness to it when he spoke. “Afternoon, angel.”

“You are aware it’s nearing midnight.” Aziraphale said, glancing up from an autographed Byronic first edition. 

“It’s still after noon, isn’t it?” 

Aziraphale thought for a moment. “Yes, alright. How long have you been drinking?”

“Not long enough.” Crowley sat down hard on the couch, and, without hesitation, laid his head in Aziraphale’s lap. 

This was odd. Sure, Aziraphale wasn’t one to shy away from physical contact, especially not with Crowley, but this had never happened before. Aziraphale tried to turn his attention back to his book, but found this a challenge when Crowley began twirling his fingers in Aziraphale’s hair. 

“Your hair’s such a lovely color.” Crowley mused. 

“Thank you. Perhaps you ought to sober up. Don’t want to end up with a headache in the morning.” And Aziraphale desperately didn’t want things to escalate while Crowley was in such a state. If they were going to escalate at all. Six thousand years, Aziraphale thought, and the poor demon still doesn’t know I’m in love with him. 

“Ah, I can just miracle it away if it comes to that.” Crowley lazily ran a thumb along Aziraphale’s cheekbone.

Aziraphale inhaled sharply. He folded the bookmark over and closed his book, setting it on the table. “Is there any particular reason why you’re here?”

Crowley stared up at the ceiling. “Nowhere else to go.”

“So your powers-that-be haven’t contacted you yet either?”

“Nope. I keep the TV on all the time, hoping they’ll drop a line. So far nothing yet.”

“Your electricity bill must be through the roof.”

“It’s just… why are we here? What are we supposed to do, if they’ve decided to let earth run wild? Are we supposed to just wait for their beck and call?”

“I don’t think so. I think,” Aziraphale put a hand atop of Crowley’s head, if not for Crowley’s reassurance then for his own, “I think we’re supposed to forge our own path, figure things out as we go along. You don’t have to be entirely evil, and I don’t have to be entirely good.”

“Not like we were ever entirely evil or good in the first place. The lines have always been blurry.”

Aziraphale briefly thought about the line preventing him from leaning down to kiss Crowley. “They certainly have.”

“So we just keep on going, and hope we’re going the right way. Interesting. I like it.”

“So do I, my dear. Now, are you planning on spending the whole night in my lap, or what?”

“I can stop, if it’s bothering you.”

“No, no. It’s just that…” Aziraphale took a deep breath. “I worry about you when you get like this.”

“You don’t need to worry about me, angel. I can handle myself.” 

“I know, but I’m an angel. I worry about everyone. Even if you are a demon.” 

“So I’m just like everyone else, in your mind.” 

Closing his eyes, Aziraphale thought about what to say. “You know that’s not what I mean.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes flew open when he felt Crowley’s thumb ghost across his lips. “What I wouldn’t give to see the world the way you do.”

Not daring to move, Aziraphale watched Crowley’s snakelike eyes scan his face. 

“I am rather drunk, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are.” Said Aziraphale quietly. 

Suddenly, Crowley was standing. “Well, I ought to be heading back. If I’m lucky, I can still catch Murder, She Wrote.”

Aziraphale felt his mouth go dry. “You don’t need to leave. Why not stay for, uh, a cup of tea?”

“No, I’ve gotta run. Thanks for the chat.” 

And like that, he was gone, the bell on the door left ringing in his wake. 

Now, twenty-nine and a half years later, Aziraphale still hadn’t gotten an answer as to why Crowley left so abruptly that night. He also hadn’t been able to advance their relationship any further beyond occasional almost-cuddling, and brief yet prolonged longing gazes. Surely Crowley had to know by now. But he still wasn’t saying anything. 

Just like any other night, Crowley entered the bookshop, wine bottle in hand. “Hello, angel.” 

And just like every other night, Aziraphale sat on the couch, brimming through an old first edition. Though he acted nonchalant, Crowley’s entrance was usually the highlight of his day. “Hello, dear. How’ve you been?”

Crowley sat down on the couch in his usual spot beside Aziraphale. “Oh, you know. Normal. Shut down the tube for a good hour today. Created quite an inconvenience.” 

“That was you?” Aziraphale had attempted to take the train in order to visit another antique bookseller who had a find he wanted. He then discovered that every single train was down, causing him to be extremely late. “I almost lost a very fascinating copy of the Divine Comedy because of you.”

“Sorry about that. Didn’t realize I’d be affecting you. If I had, I wouldn’t have done it.” Crowley looked genuinely concerned at the effect this had. It was a good look for him. Distinctly anti-demonic. 

“Ah, it’s all in the past now. I still got my book, so all’s well.” He closed the book he had been reading and put it on the table beside two wine glasses he had already pulled from the cupboard. “Any idea what day it is?”

Crowley checked his watch. “Tuesday.”

“No, I mean what occasion is it.”

Crowley frowned. “Grilled cheese day?”

“No-“

“World turtle day?”

“No, it’s-“

“World naked gardening day?”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to frown. “What? Is that even a holiday?”

“According to the calendar of obscure holidays it is.”

“Well, no, it is not naked gardening day. It’s thirty years since the almost-apocalypse.”

“Blimey. Has it been that long? It still feels like it only took place a few days ago. Thirty years. That’s almost half a human lifetime.” He popped the cork off of the wine bottle. “Thankfully, we’re not human.”

“Quite right. What do we have?”

“Something different. It’s a 2014 syrah, and you’ll never guess who made it.” 

“Jesus?”

Though he couldn’t quite see Crowley’s eyes behind his sunglasses, Aziraphale knew the demon was rolling his eyes. “No, though someone almost as absurd. It’s Fergie.”

“I didn’t know Fergie made wine.”

“I didn’t either, not until I saw this. She’s got a whole line. Pretty highly rated stuff, from what I’ve found online.”

“Interesting. Pour us a glass, and we can test it out.” After tasting the wine, Aziraphale was surprised. “Huh. Who would have guessed Fergie could make a good wine.”

“It was between her, Boz Scaggs, and Sting, so I went with Fergie.”

“Good choice.” After polishing off a glass, Aziraphale was feeling pleasantly warm. “The world has changed quite a bit in thirty years, hasn’t it?”

“It sure has. Look at the internet. Now, if I want to watch the Golden Girls, I can just pull it up with the click of a button. Fantastic technology. Don’t know why humans didn’t come up with it sooner.”

“To be fair, they did have more important things to focus on.”

“Fair, fair.” Crowley put his elbow up on the top of the couch and leaned his head against his hand. “What about us? I should think we’ve changed pretty well with the times. Well enough for two six thousand year olds.”

“Quite right. Though I’m still not quite sure how to use that Twitter thing you’re on so often.”

“It’s just called Twitter, angel. And that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about…” he waved his hand around once. “Us.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale didn’t quite know how to take that. To his knowledge, ‘us’ used in that context tended to denote people in a romantic relationship. And the two of them were definitely not in a romantic relationship. Much to his chagrin. “Well, we don’t have to avoid each other now that are bosses aren’t paying attention. That’s quite nice. I like being able to see you more often.” 

“I like seeing you too. A real step up from our original once a century meetings.” 

Without thinking, Aziraphale reached up, took Crowley’s sunglasses off, and put them onto the table, causing Crowley to raise an eyebrow. “You don’t need to wear those in here. I like your eyes.” 

Crowley looked away, a blush rising to his cheeks. “I doubt that, but thank you.” He checked his watch. “Perhaps I ought to be going.”

No. He wasn’t doing this again. Thirty years, and every time something got close to romantic between them, Crowley would run away. Aziraphale knew it wasn’t out of cowardice. He had a feeling it was out of fear. And Aziraphale had his fears too, he had lots of them. But he was tired of waiting. “You needn’t go. I want you to stay.”

“I know, it’s just that I have things to do, so I best be off.” He most certainly did not have things to do. As Crowley stood, Aziraphale grabbed him by the wrist. He could feel Crowley’s pulse racing underneath his delicate skin. 

“Don’t go, Crowley.” His hand slipped down until it was in Crowley’s palm. “Please. Stay.”

Crowley looked away towards the door. His voice wasn’t much more than a whisper. “If I stay, I don’t know if I can stop myself from kissing you.”

“So be it, then.” 

Crowley turned to him, expression brimming with emotion. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to end up regretting this. Us.” 

“I could never regret loving you, my dear. Now kiss me already.”

**Author's Note:**

> @ good omens tv series please don’t let me down


End file.
